No More Angels – A Poem

Under the chair rocks a breeze
Indentured to the dirt and dust
Out of which comes a ball of hair

Further now it travels
Into the wild openness of the floor
Your floor which you keep immaculate

You see this insult nearly floating about
Seething and spewing mindlessness
This fur, this thing, it cannot be

Not on this floor – certainly not within this house
When rushing to capture this weightless debris
The chair rocks more deeply than before

Set about are three more
It must be the cat – It couldn’t be me
The mop bucket sloshed and readied

Always this – Always this – Never any more
Inside this head rests the tallest walls
So strongly built there is no out

The children’s laughter bounced from the old house-
Making the dilapidated clap boards seem to dance-
Even the sun-warped windows were beginning to smile-

They ran and shouted and cheered-
The sunshine splashed down on their hair and made angels of them-
As they mingled away, the old home was once again alone-

No more dancing clap boards or smiling windows
No more happy children’s laughter
No more angels